ForgetMeNot
by Ms. Selly
Summary: Post-B7. When Draco is robbed of his memory, Hermione may be his only hope. But can she resist the oppurtunity to form him into the companion she desparately craves? DHer
1. Chapter 1

Forget-Me-Not

Chapter 1

Ms. Selly

Author's Note: This is really an experiment. I've been toying with the idea for quite a while, and I've decided to really get to work on it. I hope you enjoy it, this is my first real HP fic, so please give me plenty of feedback, especially on characterization. Thanks!

Disclaimer: I do not own any places or characters from the Harry Potter books, but I do own this plot and any new characters that might pop in from time to time.

**Afternoon sunlight filtered through the tall glass windows of the library**. Thick green drapes hung on either side. They were usually drawn across, blocking all light that attempted the sneak in, but on such a wonderful day….he couldn't resist a little sunshine.

Draco brushed some stray hair away from his eyes. He was focused intently on the book in his lap, but he was still alert to any sounds that would alert him to anyone approaching the library door. It hadn't happened yet, and wasn't very likely. The library in the Malfoy manor was seldom used. The tall shelves were covered equally in books and dust. He hadn't even known they had a library until one quiet day he had gone exploring for some form of entertainment and come upon a door he had never opened before.

He smirked at the words on the page, and quietly marveled. If no one had told him otherwise, he would never have expected this 'William Shakespeare' was a muggle. His amazing stories and biting wit were worthy of, dare he imagine it, a Malfoy. The library had certainly been a source of many surprises. His guess was that the books had been purchased as mere decoration, and not carefully checked before being shelved. If Lucius ever found out he had books written by muggles in his own home…

Yes, many thoughts had been formed during these long afternoons in the library. Draco had found himself questioning his previously unshakeable beliefs. If all muggles were as mud-brained as he had always thought, how could one create such, for lack of a better term, magical writings? They were still certainly below himself and his pureblood family, to be sure…but perhaps there were one or two muggles who might be worth notice. He smirked again with a bittersweet sigh, imagining the wrath he would suffer if he ever voiced any of these opinions to his parents.

Reluctantly, he glanced out at the waning light and closed his book. He shut his eyes, fingers roaming over the deliciously firm leather binding. The only time he was really happy these days was when he was alone in here with a good book. He had never gone into a profession after Hogwarts. It had been assumed in his family he would simply follow in his father's illustrious and dark footsteps. Then the Dark Lord was destroyed. That pretty much shattered all plans for a powerful future. His family, along with the rest of the Death Eaters, basically withdrew from society.

He seldom left the manor, and only for short times. His mother was becoming increasingly paranoid that someone might try and hurt him, which wasn't really very wild a theory. Lucius was still pressuring him to join the Death Eaters, but he had been able to make himself scarce enough that the issue was never pressed. He disappeared to the library every afternoon, and no one really seemed to miss him. As long as he was on time for dinner, his parents never questioned him on what he did all day long.

He set the book on the shelf closest to his chair and the windows, so he could find it easily tomorrow and, straightening his robe, exited the room. He walked down the long, silent hallways, past portraits of his ancestors. Half of them were asleep, the other half apparently did not find him worthy of words, and merely stared imperiously down at him. He ignored them. When he was very young, he had been frightened by several of the somewhat-mad looking men and women, but they didn't bother him anymore.

A cold draft blew past him and he shivered slightly, but continued walking. The manor wasn't in the best state. It was far from disrepair, and always would be, but it didn't have the same grandeur it had had while he was growing up. Malfoy Manor had always commanded attention and respect…now it gained only vaguely interested glances from those who passed by the gates.

He reached the dining room doors and glanced quickly at his reflection in the mirror next to them. He adjusted his robe again, and smoothed his hair. Then he pulled the heavy door open, and entered the room.

It was very dark, lit only by a few candelabras. The long mahogany table had only two chairs…one at each end. At almost the other end of the room, Draco saw Lucius sitting in one of the chairs, head rested pensively on his hands. Narcissa was standing next to him, but she was turned partially away, her face in shadows. Draco slid into the empty chair and gazed down the table at his parents. Something was different. Lucius' face was as stony as ever, but though Narcissa stood erect, her head drooped. It was almost as though she was trying to avoid his eyes.

"Good evening, Father."

"I have important news for you tonight, Draco."

"Oh?" Draco fought to keep his expression blank. Whatever it was his father had to say, he was fairly certain he was not going to like it. But Lucius could not know that.

"I have spoken with some of my colleagues, and we have decided you will be initiated this coming weekend."

He couldn't help it. His hand shot to grasp his forearm, as of yet pale and unmarked. The way he wanted it to be. Lucius observed this reaction and though his voice stayed calm, his eyes flashed with fury.

"You do not seem pleased," he whispered, deadly and cold. Draco swallowed hard.

"I wasn't expecting-"

"What were you expecting?" Lucius exclaimed, losing control of his building rage. Draco winced as though his Father had physically assaulted him. "What have you been doing all this time? You should have been marked when you were eighteen! I allowed you your foolish whim to wait, and I can see that was a mistake. What do you suppose the others think?" His voice dropped from it's shout, and he was, if possible, even more furious as he hissed at his son. "Lucius Malfoy's own son, twenty years old and not yet a member of the Dark Order!"

"Father, I," Draco trailed off, looking down at his chest and biting his lip to try and summon his courage. He could face untold danger…but stand up to his father? "I am not going to be initiated this weekend."

"Oh no?" Lucius asked. The ice in his voice made Draco shudder inside, but he forced himself to stay impassive. "When do you plan to be then?"

Draco took a long steadying breath. This was without question the most terrifying moment of his entire life. This was the thing he had been building up to ever since he left Hogwarts, got a glimpse of the world outside his parents' bubble. "I don't."

"You…don't…what?" Lucius Malfoy ground out from between clenched teeth. Draco shut his eyes to keep the tears of nervousness and pure fright from spilling out. It would be so much easier to follow along and do whatever his father said. But he had thought and had come to an unhappy conclusion. He could not just follow his father's lead for his entire life. At some point, he would have to make a choice on what he wanted his life to be. And surely it would be easier sooner than later.

"I don't plan to be initiated. Ever. That's not the life I want. I don't want to be a Death Eater."

Narcissa let out a choked sob and turned further away. Lucius didn't move. His hard eyes bore into his son's, until Draco couldn't bear it any longer and had to look away.

"I see I will not be able to change your mind," he said quietly.

"No," Draco agreed. He silently prayed that this would be the end, that something, anything, would happen. Would he be disowned? Banished from the house? Anything would be better than this terrible battle of wills between father and son.

"That's too bad. But…you never did measure up to my expectations of you." Lucius reached down beneath the table and produced his wand. He pointed it at Draco.

Draco couldn't move. His eyes were wide as he stared down the table. His father…his own father…pointing his wand at him. A wand that had killed and tortured so many people…now turned on the only heir to the Malfoy family. He wouldn't be disowned, or kicked out, or any of the things he had been imagining. It was worse, so much worse. His father was going to kill him.

They stood in the deadlock for a few moments, then Lucius raised his wand. He began the familiar motion and saying. "Avada Ke-"

"NO!" It was too much for Narcissa Malfoy. She could no longer stand by like the good pureblood wife she had been groomed to be. Her son's life was in imminent danger, and she could not control her maternal instincts. The terrible green light was just emerging from her husband's wand, but she produced her own wand quickly. "Cessero!"

Clear blue sparkles flowed from her wand, covering the vicious curse as it collided with her son.

Draco was knocked backward by the dual impact and found himself in a haze as he lay on the floor. He could vaguely hear things around him, a shout of "Damn it, woman!", a slap, a scream, sobbing, but it was distorted as though his head was underwater. In the same way, his eyes blurred until he could no longer see the long green dragon painted on the ceiling. He drifted slowly out of consciousness, blissfully unaware of the row that continued at the other end of the dining room.

**Light displaced by fog shone lightly on Draco's closed eyes.** The loud sound of a car speeding by woke him. He sat up quickly and looked around in a mad panic. He was lying next to a tall brick building, and there was no one else as far as he could see. He blinked a few times in confusion, then realized there was something in his hand. He held up his clenched fist and, with some effort, unclenched it. It was a scrap of paper. There was an address written on it.


	2. Chapter 2

Forget-Me-Not

Chapter 2

Ms. Selly

Disclaimer: You know the drill, no one you've seen in the books belongs to me.

**Sunshine shone brightly against the dingy gray apartment building.** Blinds covered a window it was trying to shine through but there was, of course, one tiny strip where light could sneak through. And that light shone, of course, directly into Miss Hermione Granger's eyes every single bloody morning. Hermione sat up with a scowl, stretched and managed to step (mostly) out of bed. She stumbled in her sleep-deprived state, but caught herself on her dresser before she fell.

Grumbling about her shoddy blinds, the obnoxious sun and her own traitorous feet, she headed into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She shook her head vigorously to try and wake up a little more, and stripped out of her oversized sleep shirt. She stepped into the shower stall. And screamed at the top of her lungs.

"I understand you only have one heater in this building but-….yes, I know you've asked a plumber to look at it. No, I cannot 'deal with it'! The water is totally FREEZING," she shouted into the telephone receiver, clutching her robe tightly around her goose-bump covered body. She listened to what the manager was saying with a fresh scowl. "Well, fix it!" She slammed the receiver down and took a deep breath to calm herself. On the plus side….she was definitely awake now.

She took as quick a shower as possible, though she still felt like she had been bathing in ice water. It took a little while to brush her hair and she put on a bit of make-up. After pulling on a skirt and a matching cardigan, she slipped on some shoes and slung her purse over her shoulder. She opened her door and carefully locked it behind her, though she couldn't imagine what anyone might want in her apartment. As she strode down the hallway, she heard frantic scuffling behind door 7 as always. The door swung open.

"Morning, Hermione!" A very tall and lanky young woman with long, loose black braids and thin wire glasses shut the door quickly behind her. She took a deep breath and blew it out, shaking her head and blinking her large hazel eyes.

"Good morning, Madeleine." Hermione tried not to smile as Madeleine adjusted her short gray skirt and white blouse.

The two walked out together, Madeleine glancing back at her door every few feet. Once they reached the parking lot, she sighed with relief.

"Have a nice day," she said with a smile and a wave as she climbed into a car that didn't look like she could fit in very comfortably and sped off. Hermione shook her head and laughed quietly as she turned and walked down the sidewalk. Behind her, she heard rapid footsteps and a shrill shout of "Madeleine!" She couldn't help but smile. A dedicated student, every morning Madeleine Adams snuck out the apartment she shared with her sister and took the car that supposedly belonged to said sister. The elder Adams, Miranda, was then forced to walk to campus to retrieve it, a task she was most displeased with. However, Miranda never managed to get up and out the door before Madeleine did.

Hermione walked down the street, cars driving past on one side, storefronts looming above her on the other. There were far more cars than pedestrians at this time of morning, but she was perfectly happy walking to work. The shop was close enough that she didn't need a vehicle and, truthfully, she didn't have the funds to acquire one anyway. Shrugging off such gloomy thoughts, Hermione instead focused her attention on sending positive energy to the plumber she sincerely hoped was not a figment created to shut her up. Without a doubt, the most temperamental water heater in the United Kingdom was in the basement of her apartment building. And she was tired of the sporadic absence of hot water.

She reached into her purse and produced the key to the florist shop and quickly set about readying things for the day. In an hour, customers started to arrive, and she was ready to greet them with a sunny smile. She spent the morning retrieving and taking orders for bouquets, as well as selling the pre-made ones on display. The other assistant, Ellen, showed up around noon, and Hermione moved to the back of the shop and began arranging flowers. It wasn't technically in her job description to work in the actual making of bouquets, but she had moderate talent, and the resident florist and shop owner, Mrs. Flannery, simply did not have the time to create each arrangement on her own.

So Hermione sat there for a few hours, then went back to the greenhouse to water the plants and see if any flowers were ready to be put in bouquets. When the work day was done and Ellen had left, Hermione gathered up the flowers that had been deemed 'damaged' and were unfit for sale. She wrapped them gently in plastic and held them carefully to her chest as she walked home. Her dim apartment could use some brightening.

When she reached the building, she found Madeleine perched on the roof of Miranda's car, reading a thick textbook, biting her tongue in concentration. Hermione smiled inwardly. There was an image that reminded her of herself. At her approaching footsteps, Madeleine looked up.

"Hey, Hermione."

"Hi."

"Oooh, you've got a bouquet! Secret boyfriend?" Madeleine smiled, eyes twinkling behind her glasses. Hermione laughed shortly and shook her head.

"If I got a boyfriend, you would be the first to know. They're leftovers from work."

"Oh." Her bottom lip jutted out adorably in a disappointed pout. She was such a romantic, and Hermione envied her optimism sometimes. As well as that innate youthful cuteness. Although they were probably separated in age by no more than a year, Hermione already felt very old and worn. But then, her life had probably held more stress than Madeleine could even imagine.

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, then Madeleine went back to Russian Literature, and Hermione headed for her apartment.

She unlocked her door and entered, flipping on the lights and leaving her purse and make-shift bouquet on the counter. She went into her room and pulled open her closet door, looking for a vase. She pushed aside some blazers and old shoeboxes. She was sure there was one in here somewhere. Standing on tiptoe, she peered at the shelf, wrinkling her nose in frustration. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a box in the far corner of the shelf, tied shut with twine. She swallowed hard and a cool tingle ran down her back. She closed her eyes and shut the closet door forcefully.

Hermione exited into the living room and spied the vase she had been looking for on a shelf. She smiled to herself at her own forgetfulness and removed it, banishing all memory of the box in the closet from her mind. After filling the vase with water and carefully arranging the flowers in it, she set it in the center of the table and smiled. Much better.

The doorbell rang and she frowned. Who would be visiting her? The only people she knew were Mrs. Flannery, Ellen, Madeleine and Miranda. And none of them were likely to show up on her doorstep, especially since she had just seen Madeleine outside. Still searching her mind for who it might be, she strode over and pulled the door open. Her heart plummeted through her chest. Now here was one person she never in her wildest dreaming expected might appear outside her door.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, voice low and strained, trying to conceal the pain she felt at seeing this dreadful reminder of the life she wanted to leave behind.

"Well, I," Draco Malfoy looked down at his hands, embarrassed. "I was hoping you might tell me that."


	3. Chapter 3

Forget-Me-Not

Chapter 3

Ms. Selly

**"What are you talking about?" **Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes at him. "You've got some nerve coming here."

"Oh," Draco looked incredibly confused, but she could hear the relief in his voice, "you know who I am?" This was so incredibly strange, even for the foul Slytherin boy. Was this some kind of elaborate plot to humiliate her, or was it punishment for the fall of Voldemort?

"Yeah," she chose a noncommittal answer. He smiled, looking hopeful but also somewhat ashamed.

"So…who am I?"

"You must be kidding."

"No, I'm afraid I'm quite serious." This didn't even sound like the sarcastic Draco Malfoy she knew. He was so…polite. She sized him up grimly then sighed and stepped out of the way, allowing him entrance. He nodded gratefully to her and walked inside, looking around. She shut the door firmly behind them, and gestured toward the couch. He took the hint and took a seat on the end. She walked around so they were face-to-face, but remained standing. She wanted to make sure the power in this situation remained in her hands.

"So what are you doing here?" She asked once again. Draco looked at his hands again.

"Well, I seem to have…lost my memory."

"Lost your memory?" She asked skeptically. He nodded. "Right. How did you find me then?"

"Well," he rustled in the pocket of his long dark robe and produced a small slip of paper which he handed to her. She glanced down at it. Sure enough, her address was written there neatly. She didn't recognize the handwriting. "I found this in my hand when I woke up."

"When you say 'lost your memory', how much do you--"

"I know my letters and numbers," he interrupted bitterly. "I know that this is England, I know who the muggle Prime Minister is. Yes, I know I'm a wizard. I have a wand and I know a few spells I can do with it. I know all sorts of things. But," he looked down, and she knew he was holding back tears. "I don't know how old I am. I can't remember my family, or where I'm from. I don't know what I've done with my life. I can't…" he raised his eyes to meet hers, and she shared the pain that was building there as well as the tears that were spilling forth now. "I can't remember my own name."

Hermione couldn't think of an answer. She bit her lip and looked away from him.

"You must be tired." He nodded. "You can stay on the couch. We'll talk more in the morning."

"Thank you…" he trailed off.

"Hermione." She supplied and he smiled.

"Thank you, Hermione. Thank you so much." She felt a twinge of guilt at the purely exhausted and grateful look on the face of the young man she had ridiculed both to his face and behind his back for years.

"Don't worry about it."

"Hermione?" She turned halfway back as she walked to her own bedroom. "What is my name?"  
"Drac-" She stopped suddenly. She didn't know why, but she heard herself saying, "It's Drake."

"Drake," he sounded as though he was trying out the name, seeing how it felt in his mouth. He pondered for a while, then nodded slowly in acceptance. "Drake."

**Hermione rolled over in bed, but she couldn't sleep. ** Why had she lied to him about something as simple as his name? And now he surely thought she would dedicate herself to helping him regain his memory…but…did she really want that? Did she want this polite, open Draco to revert back to his old cynical and vicious self? She was so alone here…sure, it was a self-imposed loneliness, but she had hoped she would be able to make friends. The closest thing she had to a friend was Madeleine, and they were more passing acquaintances than friends. It would be nice to have someone to talk to.

She rolled onto her other side. It was foolish to even think of. Toying with someone's mind was a dangerous thing. She had to get him his memory back. But…Draco had been a terrible person, hadn't he? So, she would really be doing the world a favor to make a new man out of him. It's not like he could tell the difference. And he seemed perfectly content to be kind. It was the perfect opportunity. The most wicked schoolmate she had could become the perfect companion. This kind of thing, when attempted by muggles, required heavy psychological conditioning, electroshock therapy, all manner of expensive and strange things. And she could do it simply and easily with her words.

Sitting up, she got out of bed quietly. She wouldn't wake her sleeping guest, who was blissfully unaware of the plotting happening in the bedroom. She slid open her closet door, and felt around on the shelf until she pulled down the box she had avoided that very night. She took a deep breath and untied the twine that bound it shut. She stared at the shut box for a long time. There would be no going back from this. If she opened it, it was a can of worms she could not close.

She took in another breath, held it for a few moments, and let it out, eyes closed in the dark. She lifted off the lid, and pulled out a thick photo album, some pieces of parchment, a bit of ink, a quill…and her wand. She fingered the wand, biting her lip to try and hold back the flood of emotions that were coursing through her. Memories she had been trying so hard to forget snuck back into her consciousness, and she ducked her head, as though she could hide from her own thoughts.

After a few moments, the painful rush subsided to a dull ache, and she flattened one of the parchment sheets and dipped her quill in the ink bottle. She let the feather brush her mouth, remembering doing the same thing in a dormitory only a few years ago. But those years seemed so long now. Refusing to think back any longer, she began to write.

_Dear Colin…_

**Draco wrinkled his nose in sleep. **_He was a small boy, standing next to a tall man in a long black hooded cloak. He looked around the room, which seemed strangely foggy, and saw there were several other hooded figures standing in a circle. In the center of the circle of wizards--he wasn't sure how he knew they were wizards--was another cloaked figure and a man kneeling the floor who was not wearing a cloak at all. He was sweating profusely and looked very frightened._

_He looked up at the man beside him, and could see a few strands of blonde hair that had escaped the hood. He turned back, a strange feeling of foreboding building in his stomach. His worry was not ungrounded, for the hooded figure in the center produced a wand from it's sleeve and murmured a spell. Immediately, the kneeling man began to writhe and wail with unbearable pain. Draco looked around the room, eyes welling with tears in a panic, but no one was doing anything._

_He turned towards the cloaked man he stood by and buried his face in the black robe. He thought he heard a disapproving grunt, and a cool hand grasped his chin and forced him to look back at the man being tortured. The tears began to slip out of his eyes, but he stared as the unearthly screams continued, unable to look away._

He gasped and his eyes snapped open. He panicked for a moment before remembering where he was. Hermione…his friend? He wasn't sure. She had invited him in, and allowed him to spend the night. But, she hadn't really acted as though they were friends. He would have liked to learn more from her, but he was so terribly lost and confused, he didn't want to press it. She was his only chance at discovering who he was. He was alone and in the dark without her. She would help him. She had to help him.

**Hermione had only been back to sleep for a few hours** when she was awoken by pecking on her window. She rose swiftly and slid it open, smiling at the familiar sight of an owl. She untied the letter and package carefully and managed to stroke the feathers gently before he took off to return to his master. She set the package down on her dresser, and opened the letter, eyes quickly scanning the words.

_Hermione,_

_Glad to be rid of these. Can't imagine what you want them for. Where've you been? See you sometime soon?_

_Colin_

She smiled. Colin was never one for lengthy correspondence. She carefully opened the package, and grinned. He certainly came through when she needed him, though. She picked up one of the photographs, carefully opened her album and readied her wand. It was time to work.


End file.
